


A Lone Mourner

by coolbeansandtimemachines



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbeansandtimemachines/pseuds/coolbeansandtimemachines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Fall comes the sorrow....</p><p>A short piece about the funeral. His funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lone Mourner

As I stare at the casket, I see only myself in the shiny, black reflection. The bags under my eyes. The frown lines. The greying roots of my cropped, blonde hair.

The rest of the mourners, the few there were, are long gone. It was a fairly short service. Not much to say. The true wonders of the man I have lost forever have been erased from existence. No one will ever believe the things he did. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

The priest has disappeared somewhere, leaving me alone in the chapel. Alone to think.

I glance over the flowers on the top of the polished surface. Lilies. Nice. Simple. No fancy wreaths with the name of the deceased. That wouldn't be right.

A broken sob echoes suddenly around the room, reverberating around the bare walls, and it shocks me to realise it has come from me. But I let the tears flow. After weeks of feeling numb, I need this. Need to speak.

"Do you know how sick it makes me? There. On the television. On the radio. In the papers. Everyone thinks that just because it's on the BBC, or the Guardian, it must be true. Bullshit. Not even fairy tales. It's like a nightmare."

I straighten my tie a little self-consciously. I've never been one for religion, or belief in an afterlife, so talking to a casket seem more than a little redundant. But I can't help myself.

"Every way I turn, things remind me of you. Vile substances in hidden nooks of the flat. Your dressing gown, still hanging on the bedroom door. Your aftershave on the bathroom shelf, untouched. A smudge of uneven colour on the wall where I had to plaster over a bullet hole from a day of your bored tantrums."

I allow myself a smile then. It feels painful. I haven't smiled for…too long.

"And yet they say…you were a lie. It was all fake. Part of some elaborate scheme. I know it wasn't. I know you are…were….real. Like I said, it makes me sick."

I shake my head, feeling my throat burning with supressed sobs.

"I had seen some horrors out there, in Afghanistan. Amongst the heat and the dust and the longing for the comfort of England, the blood and the screaming and the pain and the never ending rain of _death._ And then all that was ripped away from me against my will. It was horrific. But it was almost…home. Back to the mundane streets of taxis and buses and life as a civilian. I was ready to end it you know. Before you. And then you gave me a ridiculous new lease of life…."

The tears are flowing freely now as I place my hand on the coffin.

"…and now I don't know…life is going to be…so different without you. I'll try, I really will. I just…I have never met anyone like you, and I know I never will again."

Shaking with emotion, I lean forward, pressing a kiss to the coffin.

"I loved you. I never said it, but I never thought I had to. But I loved you. And I think I always will."

I straighten myself to my military stance, salute the coffin, and turn to walk away, ignoring the salty sting of my tears as they roll down my face. As I step outside the chapel, a cool breeze ripples through the trees, blowing blossom petals across the path. I can almost hear his voice on the wind. The gentle tone that I think only I ever truly heard. Not forced. Not pretence. The real man beneath the surface. I can hear him now. I've said my goodbye, and now he sends me his.

" _Goodbye Sebastian."_


End file.
